We\'ve got an event, whoaa foot hard on the brake behind a sea of red lights
Clutch ... pedal ... clutch ... pedal, then windows drop, gulping in the cold of the night
Slow to a stop. Commuter heads pop out from bubbles of frustration,
Big and small cheeses rolled into one, all of us just wanting our destination
The red sea parts like Moses and the Exodus and in flow the blue flashes
Scalding eyeballs with blinding brightness, speeding towards where the crash is
Blasting, thanking, weaving curves like a pro - like taking serves from Boris Becker
They know the score, they know humans well - it\'s time for the Rubber Neckers
The worst without the slightest shred of shame, full-bore slowing and staring at the stretcher
The pious take peeks at the \'poor souls\', but pretend not to gawp, as if that makes things better
Rubber necks with brains on top, filled to the brim with a myriad of genes and reasons
Humans getting a morbid, curious thrill at the gratis highway horror-show, whatever the season